


defiance

by WritingEverything



Series: happily every after, how could I ask for more? [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Denial, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Gen, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25808200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEverything/pseuds/WritingEverything
Summary: He doesn't hate himself. He just doesn't see the need for all these mundane, everyday tasks.He gets yelled at by Coach Ukai, feels his stomach drop, feels the need to just curl into himself until he disappears, but that doesn't mean anything. He doesn't hate himself. He just needs to work harder (but that thought seems hopeless in itself, because really, there's no point in improving at all. it's all going to be for nothing).
Series: happily every after, how could I ask for more? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878202
Kudos: 133





	defiance

**Author's Note:**

> a vent, mostly. haha. enjoy or whatever.

* * *

It starts off simple enough. Nothing that would spark concern straight away, that would alert others that something was off.

The training camp comes around, and Kuroo Tetsurou follows him like a lost puppy. The third-year gives him tips on his blocks, joins him for dinner and always offers a part of his meal, encourages him to eat more and to develop more muscles.

He doesn't know why the older boy is doing this, just knows that he's not going to leave.

A few days have passed and the training camp is coming to an end. Their last dinner, Kuroo giving him some of his food again, and then nighttime rolls around. The third-year is nowhere to be seen, so he leaves the building to walk off the gigantic amount of food he was forced to eat.

He stumbles far off the sidewalk, close to the trees that surround the building. He hides behind one as he throws up his dinner. The cool breeze drifting through the area helps calm him down afterwards.

It's just a weak stomach, he tells himself; after all, he's always been a light eater. But the way Kuroo-san looks at him the next day, like he _knows_ what happened last night, makes him feel like it's something more. But it can't be.

The training camp ends, and he doesn't see Kuroo-san for a long time after that.

They're back at Karasuno. Coach Ukai surprises them with rice balls on their second practice back, and Yamaguchi moves to give one to him, but he declines.

Nobody bats an eye.

* * *

He doesn't weigh himself. 

One, he can't find a scale anywhere.

And two, he feels no need to. Because there isn't anything wrong.

Instead, he just waits. He sits there, and waits. Finishes his homework, and waits. Practices certain volleyball techniques, and waits. Waits until his stomach grumbles, demanding his attention. And then he ignores it some more and continues what he's doing, until the feeling becomes unbearable and it feels like his stomach is curling in on itself.

Then he goes inside and fetches a glass of water, and heads to bed.

There's no scale, because there's nothing wrong. He doesn't force himself to vomit, doesn't run to the kitchen in the middle of the night to force down what food he can. 

He just doesn't see the need to eat. And that's not an eating disorder, right? Those are when you vomit after you eat, when you forcefully deny yourself of food because you hate yourself.

But he doesn't hate himself.

He really doesn't.

~~He doesn't know what to believe anymore.~~

It's just that he doesn't see the need for all these mundane, repetitive tasks. He has more important stuff to focus on; school, homework, volleyball, etc. If he forgets a meal or two in favour of completing some class work, if he deliberately ignores the offer for a snack from the team because he's not in the mood for one, it doesn't mean anything. 

And it's not like it really matters. He's already too lanky, too out of place with his gangly arms and thin stature. If anything, this would be good for him.

* * *

_Maybe you do this for fun,_ something in his head tells him.

Maybe he does.

Maybe he likes the pain. It's almost like a drug, an addiction for him and him alone.

Maybe he just wants to get hurt, just wants to feel the pain. Does it validate some deep feeling inside him? Does it prove that he's not as invincible as he makes himself out to be? 

_You're fucked up like that,_ the voice tells him. _It never occurred to you that you were just doing this for fun. People are actually suffering from disorders like these, and you're doing it of your own volition._

 _Sure,_ he says back. _Whatever you say._

It doesn't matter to him. Nothing really does. He just feels numb now; indifferent to it all.

* * *

His height is one of the few things he's got going for him.

It's one of the reasons he hasn't been kicked off the volleyball team. It's one of the reasons why Yamaguchi doesn't get picked on anymore. It's one of the reasons why everyone leaves him alone, too intimidated to start up a conversation with him. It's always peaceful then. Serene.

But sometimes, when he gets reprimanded by the coach or Daichi, when he misses an easy toss from Kageyama, when Yamaguchi reminds him about treating the other teammates nicer, he gets this pit in his stomach. He wants to curl into himself until he disappears, thinks that if he just stops eating, he'll get smaller and smaller, and vanish altogether.

His height is both a blessing and a curse.

But he doesn't hate himself. He just needs to improve, is all. Be better than he is. It's thoughts like those that keep him going, keeps him from breaking his cool persona in front of the others, keeps him from laying down in bed and wishing for the world to swallow them whole.

* * *

Nishinoya accidentally bumps into him.

The second-year is late to stop the momentum after he hits the ball, and when they collide, the taller boy goes flying. It's like straight out of a scene in a movie, except this is reality, and he's suddenly on the floor, trying to gather back the oxygen that got knocked out of him. In a moment, Sugawara is by his side, along with Shimizu and Yachi and a few others. 

Takeda-sensei is panicking from the bench, looking a few seconds away from passing out, and if the first-year wasn't so focused on trying to breathe, he'd say something snarky at the irony. Accept he can't, because the world is kinda spinning.

Sugawara gently pulls him into a sitting position, and he has to force himself to remember where he is, that he's at school, and he can't show anything or else they'll think something is wrong when nothing is. 

Nishinoya is staring at him, eyes wide.

"You're really light," the second-year says, and nobody really pays any mind at the comment.

He can't find a response to that, so he just shrugs, feeling helpless.

"You're really light," Nishinoya repeats, and this time Daichi perks up at that. "I thought you were Shōyō at first. You flew at least two metres after I bumped into you."

Bravely, Tanaka moves forward, hands outstretched, like he's going to pick him up. He evades the touch, rushes to his feet by himself. He waves their concern off, says he's going to get a drink and walk around to clear is head.

Nobody moves to run after him.

* * *

His mother calls him down for dinner.

He eats what he can, which is, admittedly, not that much. But she doesn't seem to notice, doesn't seem to _mind,_ because he hasn't eaten dinner with her in a while. Maybe she's too elated that he's here in the first place to even notice that something is amiss.

But he sees the way her hands hesitate when she cleans up. Maybe she's running the calculations in her head, flickering through the amount of food left, how much she ate, trying to conclude how much _he_ ate while she was so distracted.

They don't yell at each other. They try not to, because yelling was their father's thing, and they've removed all traces of him a long time ago. There's no room for yelling in their household. But they do argue, bickering back and forth, and he can't understand why she's so concerned because _nothing_ is wrong. He's just not that hungry today. Is that so hard to believe?

He apologizes to her the first thing in the morning, and gently pulls him into a hug. He tries not to recoil back when she rests her head on his chest -- on his ribcage -- and he wonders if she can feel them poking against her forehead.

She doesn't say anything when she pulls back, and he guesses he'll never know.

She gives him two lunches now, starting that day. There's this kid in the other class that doesn't have a lunch, so he offers one to them. Sometimes he gives them both.

And this is fine, right? Because the kid is tiny, malnourished, even. So they need the food more than he does.

* * *

The first time he blanks out is in his room. It's late at night, and he's trying to finish the homework he had put off by accident. There had been more and more practices popping out, since Nationals was approaching soon, so he had to exchange some of his after school time to prepare with the others.

He's approaching midnight, and he's tired -- a bone-deep exhaustion that's rooted itself in his core. He wants to sleep, but he has to finish this work. His stomach protests, but he ignores it.

He blinks, and one moment it's dark outside, and the next the morning sun is shining through the window.

He curses. He fell asleep, and a quick glance at his phone shows that it's nearly time for him to leave. He packs his stuff, waves his mother goodbye, and rushes out of the house. He doesn't have time for breakfast, he tells himself, even as the delicious smell of pancakes follow him out of the house. It makes him want to turn back, but he doesn't.

* * *

The second time he blanks out is in the middle of practice. He puts in a little too much energy, too much force as he bounces off the floor and shoots forward, attempting to block one of Azumane's spikes.

He doesn't manage to do it. Instead, the spike knocks his arm back, sending him off-balanced, and he's crashing to the floor.

He wakes up a few minutes later, feeling faint, head pounding. Someone's bag is under his head, there's an icepack on his forehead, and Yamaguchi looks like he's about to cry as he kneels over him.

"You're really light," Yamaguchi chokes out. "Tsukki, when did you get so thin?"

He looks around. Takeda-sensei is on the phone, panicked gaze darting everywhere and anywhere. Daichi is trying to keep everyone a respectful distance away. Sugawara is on a bench nearby, alone, looking at him.

"Tsukki?" Yamaguchi asks.

He tears his eyes away from Sugawara. "What?"

"Have you been eating?" the smaller boy asks. "I . . . Sugawara checked your breathing, because he was afraid you weren't, and -- he said he could feel your ribs."

He's is quiet.

"And your wrists, they're really thin. And we rolled up your pants -- because Sugawara said he had to check to make sure -- "

His femurs are pale, almost fragile looking. He could nearly wrap his fingers around them completely. 

"I-I can't believe I didn't notice it sooner," Yamaguchi cries. "I always noticed you never really had a lunch with you anymore. And -- and you collarbone looked more pronounced, and when Nishinoya said you were really light, that should've tipped me off.

He's going to curl in on himself and disappear. Just a little more, and he'll be gone.

"Your mom said you weren't eating as much anymore, but I never thought -- "

He sits up sharply, ignoring the dizziness that threatens to swallow him whole, and a few other teammates step towards him, alarmed.

"You're talking to my mom behind my back?" he hisses, and Yamaguchi flinches at the venom lacing his words. "What the hell!"

Yamaguchi shakes his head. "I didn't -- "

"Don't blame this on him," Daichi steps in. Sugawara doesn't seem to like that for some reason, and moves to pull the captain away. "He was just worried. We _all_ are, Tsukishima. This isn't healthy. You're killing yourself."

Sugawara latches onto Daichi's shirt, finally managing to tug him away. His words sting, and he can feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

"I didn't need this," he says. "I didn't need any of this. Nothing's going on. You're over-exaggerating.

Yamaguchi has the nerve to look shocked. "This is _dangerous,_ " he stresses. "We're not over-exaggerating anything! Tsukki, please, you have to listen!"

"Shut _up,_ Yamaguchi -- "

"No!" the smaller boy shouts, and everyone is looking at them. He can't handle it.

He lays back down on the ground, throws a hand over his face, hiding the watery eyes. He doesn't know what to do.

He waits.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> no ending, because hey, I'm not dead yet, so he isn't either. until one of us disappears, we'll keep each other going, feeding off the pain until even that can no longer give us comfort.


End file.
